


Keeping Watch

by Sidonie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drug Abuse (implied), End!verse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidonie/pseuds/Sidonie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things Castiel has never done. Only now does it occur to him that dying is one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keeping Watch

**Author's Note:**

> I love the End!verse more than anything. This was originally supposed to be part 2 of a 5-part series inspired by The Mountain Goats' "Genesis 30:3" (which provides the lyrics at the beginning), but school ate my life so I figured I'd post this bit. It stands alone. Set not long after the Croatoan virus starts spreading, before they meet up with Chuck and establish the refugee camp.

_I remember seeing you my tongue struck dumb  
When you first came here from wherever it was you came from  
The power in your voice  
Your rough touch  
You keeping care of me  
Keeping watch_

Castiel was crying. It was a new thing, the burning tears streaking his cheeks, the breathless, shivering emptiness in his chest. He hated it, the messiness of it, the way it clogged his nose and daubed his skin with blotchy red patches. He hated the helplessness of being unable to stop the sobs that were taking him apart, piece by broken piece.

“Would you stop being such a fucking _girl_?” Dean snapped. “You're going to be fine.”

A wet, ragged laugh greeted that particular brand of obliviousness. “Dean, I'm already dead.”

It had all happened so fast; a blur of movement, snapping teeth and cherry-red eyes, bowling Castiel over, pinning him to the ground. A knife, long and wicked, tracing a line of white-hot agony across his chest, parting his flesh with sinful ease and knocking against his ribs, taking no heed of his struggles or screams. The thing that had once been a man leered at him, blood running from half a hundred cuts on its face and neck, dripping into his open wound. No more than a second later, its head had vanished in a cloud of red mist, drenching Castiel in bits of bone and brain and flesh.

Too little, too late. Now Castiel sat on the ground, pale and dizzy from blood loss, while Dean bandaged him and tried to ignore the rifle lying a few feet away. The silence was thick with tension, broken only by a few errant sobs as the angel tried to come to terms with mortality and Dean flexed his denial muscles.

“You've still got some angel mojo. I know it. I mean, come on, you can't just fucking fall and fucking _bam_! Human. Not how it works. Shit, _Sam_ was enough demon for it not to get him, so a fucking _ex-angel_ should be fucking golden.”

“Perhaps,” Castiel conceded. “But if I start to turn, _promise me_ that you will kill me. I deserve that much.”

Dean set his jaw. “You're not going to turn.”

“Promise.”

A brief staring contest later, he relented. “ _Fine_. I promise, okay? Is that fucking good enough?”

“Yes.” Castiel leaned back, the faintness that had been gnawing at the edges of his consciousness finally overwhelming him. The world faded to black as he offered up one last, desperate prayer.

When his eyes fluttered open again, it soon became apparent that Dean had been right. The pain from his chest nearly incapacitated him and hunger opened a pit in his stomach, but he felt no urge to hold someone down and bleed on them. He opened his mouth to alert Dean of this fact, but all that came out was a shattered groan. The meaning must have been clear, though, because moments later the hunter was kneeling at his side, gentle, callused hands checking his pulse and sliding under his neck and back to prop him up.

“What did I tell you?” Dean muttered, tipping a little water down his throat. “Immune.”

“It . . . appears so.” Castiel's voice creaked like a rusty hinge, his throat feeling like it had been scoured out with steel wool. He took another swallow of the water, which was warm and slightly brackish and the best damn thing he'd ever tasted.

“We have to get moving. If there's one Croat, there's probably more, and we've stayed here too long already. Can you stand?” Castiel shook his head, fairly certain that anything beyond lying in Dean's arms would spell disaster. “All right. Sorry, but this is going to hurt like hell.” Without any further warning, Dean picked him up, tossing him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

It did hurt. It hurt like the world was ending, like Castiel's skin and heart and lungs were all on fire, like he was being torn apart at the seams. He screamed, raw and broken, before once more lapsing into unconsciousness.

He woke stretched out in the back seat of the Impala, his bandages fresh and tight around his ribs. “Where are we?” he croaked.

“Somewhere in the middle of Minnesota, I think. I can't tell for sure because it's been nothing but fucking cornfields for ages now.” Dean glanced up at him in the rearview mirror. “How you doing?”

“I feel like I stepped on a landmine,” Castiel replied, and that dragged an honest-to-God chuckle from the hunter.

“Well, it turns out you're landmine-proof, so I'm planning on using you as a human shield from now on,” Dean offered, his tone half joking and half deadly seriousness.

The angel—ex-angel—laughed softly. “That might be problematic, as I am apparently not knife-proof.”

“Yeah, well, can't have everything.” Dean looked back at him again, his brows creasing in a frown. “Dude, you look like shit. Here.” He rummaged around in the pile of junk that was currently occupying the passenger seat, producing a clear plastic bottle. “I raided an abandoned drug store a few miles back. Want some Vicodin?”

“What is it?”

“Medicine. Drugs. You know, to help take the pain away. Do you want it?”

“Always,” quipped Castiel. It wasn't entirely a joke, but they were both too tired and beaten down to realize it at the time. So they laughed.


End file.
